Vintage

*Disclaimer: I am not a writer. 

Painting, drawing, and doodling have kept my wandering, loopy mind in place my entire life. As a little girl, I would often take refuge in our cozy sunroom at our home in Lowell, Massachusetts. I settled into that space all year long…even when the air would get so cold and raw in the wintertime and I had to wear uncomfortable bulky layers to keep me warm. In the summer, I would sprinkle around used up popsicle and Pudding Pop sticks, and Freeze Pop plastic sleeves everywhere, much to my mother’s annoyance. I would sit down and make paper dolls…endlessly. I learned to hold a piece of paper against the window, trace and design an outfit on top of the doll I had created.

My mother used to design and sew clothing for Barbie dolls so she could sell them at our church festival where they sold out every year. As a child I explained that if we added a little hanger and some accessories, like a cute pair of platoform mules, they would sell even quicker. Nearly every artistic gene I got from my mother. It’s as though she subconsciously predicted that creative outlets would become a safety net for me my entire life. Today, at eighty-seven years old, she still paints. Beautifully.

Interestingly, my earliest work can be found in an Archie Comic book where I submitted a fashion design for a monthly contest and won. I was shocked that my design was chosen and to see Betty wearing it in a comic was surreal. The design was a simple black peacoat, boots that looked like a pair of Uggs, and a cream-colored chunky knit beanie, scarf and mittens. Looking back, I can see that I played it safe. 

In elementary school, I was asked to design and draw the backdrop for our Thanksgiving Day production. To this day, I can visualize the overall design of the pilgrims and Native Americans standing side-by-side like stiff statues. I’m able to recall the colors of the turkey feathers that I drew forty-four years ago in great detail, but cannot for the life of me, remember what I wore just yesterday.

Throughout high school, I found academics to be a complete bore and had trouble sustaining focus due to undiagnosed ADHD. It was only while attending art classes at Lowell High School, where I was finally able to elevate myself as an academic student because I finally had a carrot dangling in front of me. I needed a purpose to create the motivation and drive inside of me and in many ways, I am still this way. Not only did I want to get into a good art program, but it was a great one I was seeking. That would require a solid portfolio and impressive grades.

I offloaded math and science classes (my Achilles heels) when I was able to and focused on humanities and as many art classes as I could take. I was and still am keenly aware of my strengths and challenges.

Surprisingly, my parents allowed me to take the train into Boston at sixteen years old to attend Saturday art classes at Mass College of Art. Over the course of a year, I built an art portfolio and was ultimately accepted into and attended Boston University’s School for the Arts, a program deeply rooted in the human figure, academia, classical skills, and techniques. To this day everything I learned there has been a blessing and a curse, but I would do it all over again. Figurative art and expressionism are at the root of the language I am now trying to create. It is a part of my imagination and creative fibers. And now, so many years later, I will play only by my own rules. And that includes using white paint.